Armageddon
by Anon226
Summary: The time for slumber has come to an end. The Rethellian Empire, after many millennia spent in self isolation, return to the galactic stage to reclaim their former glory. Many will deny their ascension, and many will fall. A threat beyond the edges of the galaxy challenges Rethellian supremacy. Only one thing is certain. The galaxy will burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Resurgence**

"We must adhere to our traditions! If we were to abandon our time honored values now, then what is to stop us from abandoning all that makes us Rethellian!"cried a person from one side of the chambers, who was promptly drowned out by the shouts of the crowd on the other side. Ilmas Vagon, the reigning emperor of the Rethellian Empire, had been sitting in this chamber for about three hours listening to the council bicker and argue about, from his point of view, meaningless things. He reigned as emperor for only 30 years and already it was becoming more of an annoyance than a heralded position. His father, the previous emperor, passed the empire down to him, as did his father's father and so on and so forth, resulting in him taking the throne at the extremely young age of 1800, which was unheard of to their species who lived long lives.

As he listened to the arguments, shouts and insults flung from one side to the other, he pondered as to the reason for his attendance to these council meetings if he had the final say so in every decision. It seemed rather pointless, a waste of time that could be spent doing things that actually have some effect, rather than arguing and insulting one another. Oh, that's right, tradition deemed it pertinent that he attend, lest he cause a scandal with the council. Not that he cared, but his closest advisors sure seemed to care. If they cared, why listen to their incessant drivel about relations with the council and the like and just come to the meetings.

The 'issue' being 'debated' in this council meeting was whether or not to expand beyond their star system, to reclaim the former glory of the once galaxy spanning Rethellian Empire, now a pale shadow of its former self, confined to their homeworld. He has heard this topic being brought up so many times, he has grown rather tired of the constant bickering. An especially loud shout drew his attention from his thoughts back to the chamber floor.

"We still haven't quelled the rebellions on our home planet! What makes you think expansion into the galaxy is what we need right now?" One council member shouted. This particular council member is the official leader of the Traditionalist Party, an organization dedicated to preserving tradition and time honored values. "We need to stay here on our homeworld, quell the flame of rebellion and then maybe we can discuss expanding. Who knows what could have sprung up to fill the void after we withdrew from the galactic stage, and I for one will not risk the lives of our people for the petulant ambitions of a certain power hungry warmonger who flouts tradition and everything that makes us Rethellian!" he shouted, earning gasps and cries of outrage from the other side of the chamber.

"And not only that. We still have issues we need to resolve before we venture into the stars to claim our old colony worlds. Our world is experiencing a shortage of jobs, homes, and basic necessities. We must resolve this before we do anything else," he finished with a huff.

"What my cowardly counterpart doesn't understand is that we are destined to rule the galaxy. We conquered it before in its entirety and ruled for six hundred thousand millennia before we retreated, kickstarting a golden age for our people. Unprecedented wealth flowed into the coffers, our military strength was unchallenged, our power absolute. Our culture reached new heights, monuments, temples and wonders unprecedented in scale, complexity and quality were created on our homeworld and the colonies by our forebears. Works of art incomparable to our modern works were created in the imperial palace, and scholars of unprecedented skill and insight graced our nation. It was an age of wonder and growth, and our people prospered," another voice stated passionately. He was the leader of the Revivalist Party, a movement dedicated to restoring the empire to its former glory.

"But now, here we sit, arguing over miniscule problems in a grandiose chamber, while the galaxy is being torn apart by warlords, ambitious merchants, infantile republics and petty kings who claim the galaxy as their own, becoming upstarts and challenging everything that makes us Rethellian!" he said, going to continue his speech before being cut off by the leader of the Traditionalist Party.

"Must we accept the challenge of every lesser creature that claims the galaxy as theirs? Can you not exercise some level of self restraint? If we were to do so we would be stretched so thin that our military couldn't protect our citizens. Instead it would be used to squash every inconsequential race of primitives who think they are masters of the void. Truly the leadership and attitude we need at this point," he sarcastically said.

"The Terran Galactic Empire openly mocks us Rethellians. They call us feeble minded weaklings who were too spineless to survive in the galaxy. They claim that only they are the true masters of the stars and that their military might is the only true power in the cosmos. We are but faded relics and cowards in the eyes of the galaxy. They think us extinct due to our own failings and weakness. We must rectify this. We must restore our image in the galaxy as its rightful ruler and unchallenged power in the cosmos. They hold many worlds in the eastern arms of the galaxy, and move closer to us as we speak. We must strike now to quell the upstarts before they gain too much traction and overwhelm us with sheer numbers," The Revivalist faction leader argued.

A great murmur soon befell the chamber, as both sides discussed these new developments. Fierce arguments sprung up among the minor parties who allied themselves with one of the two major factions that made up the council. Every council member was conflicted by the information that primitives claimed that they were weak. Their pride and honor as Rethellains demanded that they mobilize the military and utterly crush these self styled masters of the void. On the other hand, the recent wave of scholarly thought that emphasised discussion and diplomacy urged them to think nothing of these words, to discard the insults as inconsequential mutterings of primitives that could only hope to be their equals in their wildest dreams. While these discussions were taking place, the emperor, with a face twisted in indignation and anger, rose from his throne. A nearby honor guard called for the chamber to quiet, and soon the council members fell silent. Ilmas slowly walked down from his throne onto the chamber floor, his size and strength intimidated and awed nearby council members and honor guards alike.

"Many times has this discussion been brought to this council chamber. And many times it has never reached a decision. If this council cannot get its act together and start agreeing on legislation, I might have to take a more active role in decisions for the Empire. However, this discussion has gone long enough. If what you say is true, then by my honor, and by the honor of the Rethellian people, we cannot allow this to continue. To be insulted and openly mocked by a lesser is an insult to us as species. We will be a disgrace to all that came before us if we let this go unanswered. It is time for us to reclaim what is rightfully ours. Therefore, I hereby declare that the Rethellian Empire will begin the reactivation of our colonization program, and the restart of our research teams, so that they may benefit the empire," he commanded, his voice echoed with authority and power.

Not a word was said. While the council members were content to argue amongst themselves, comfortable with questioning the ideals of other council members, they dare not question the Emperor. They knew the consequences of such actions, many new and brash council members met their fate questioning the Emperor, they would not follow a similar path.

"I also decree that the shipyards be reactivated and the Rethellian fleet updated with new technology obtained from our research teams, so that our naval might may not be challenged again if a threat were to come to pass. The cloning vats are to be activated, and the production of soldiers to begin anew. A program to genetically enhance volunteer soldiers will be enacted as of today, so as to give us every advantage on the battlefields to come. The time to strike at the upstarts will soon be at hand. I expect everyone to be ready to reclaim the galaxy when that time comes," Ilmas finished, scanning the council members for ones brave or foolish enough to disagree. To his relief, he found none.

The Emperor nodded his head in approval, and turned to retire to his chambers. He had spoken enough for today. The time for talk and debate is over. For his people to return to the splendor and grandeur of his forefather's time, he had a lot of work to do. Now was the time for action. Only time will tell if he will do right by his people. Only time will tell.

**YAY, I'm not dead! At least that's the idea anyways. This is a story I had come up with while playing the game Stellaris. And by Terra's non-existent oceans, writer's block has me by the throat, what with college and work. Its been pretty one sided so far. I apologize for making y'all wait so long. I hope y'all forgive me for this transgression.**

**Ciao**


	2. Chapter 2

"Citizens of the Empire! I have come to you on an auspicious occasion," The Emperor said into a microphone which overlooked thousands of Rethellian citizens, who looked upon him with awe and curiosity. His podium was centered in a massive coliseum, lined with hundreds upon hundreds of seats for the thousands of onlookers who attended this public event, all crafted from a sleek, elegantly carved brass colored metal, with white lights illuminating the coliseum. He gazed into the thousands of attendants, all staring at him with rapt attention, and felt a sense of contentment.

"I am here to inform you that the first colony ships of the Colonization Initiative have begun their journey towards the ring-world surrounding our star. They will colonize the habitable zones and establish communications with us soon after the colonies are fully functioning and thriving. This is a momentous occasion in our vast history as a species," he proclaimed before taking a breath. "It is the first step beyond our planet since the focus upon our inner workings that began under the previous Emperor, my father. We stand upon a crossroads that ends in only one thing. If and when the colonization of the ring-world is successful, we shall move onto other habitable planets beyond our star system. We shall expand our influence and territory to encompass the glory and prosperity we once possessed as a species!" He paused to let the idea sink in. "Those lessers that flounder about in our galaxy will know who truly rules the stars, and will kneel to their betters, or be ground to dust under the heel of our armies." he said, leaving the stand and making his way towards his transportation.

As he entered his transportation, he looked upon the throngs of citizens chanting his name, waving their arms and cheering with joy. He smiled at this display. His attention was returned to his transport as it began to lift from the ground and sped towards the royal palace.

As the transport sped throughout the city, he pressed a button on the console, bringing up his adviser on a holographic projector. His adviser was new, fresh into the job at the age of 600, and seemingly eager to advise him on matters of state. However, despite his inexperience, he has been a sound source of advice, as he was the one to convince him to go through with the Colonization effort. He could be relied on to see tasks through and provide the most safe and secure option in matters regarding legislation when the council couldn't decide on what to do.

"Pharsalus, what are your thoughts on my speech to the masses?"

"It was exemplary as always, your grace. The citizens seemed to like it. I've always wondered how you were able to keep them this loyal towards you, when previous emperors, barring your father of course, have had difficulties securing the support of the citizenry."

"My skills with the crowds come from my father. He stressed the importance of securing the loyalty of the people, for without them we are nothing."

"Wise counsel from a wise man, your grace. The officials at the Royal Palace applauded your speech, but others weren't so enthusiastic at your proclamation," the adviser hinted.

This troubled the Emperor. If there was dissension amongst his government, he needed to know about it and take action to prevent any form of rebellion, or, if possible, rectify it and reforge bonds of loyalty. The Empire was already dealing with rebels in the southern continents, the armies he had sent were making progress. The quelling of the rebellion would come any month now. He couldn't afford to have another rebellion in the capital.

"Gather the council of advisers and tell them to meet in the inner sanctum," the Emperor ordered, his voice a harsh, baritone bark.

"As you wish, my grace. I will have them there before you arrive," Pharsalus said.

The Emperor nodded and ended the transmission, returning his gaze to the city. The Capitol was a large, sprawling center of industry and trade, its high, towering buildings led to the clouds, white lights being the main form of illumination. Its streets bustled with transports of goods from major industrial centers to the areas of commerce, large transports filled with civilians, transporting them from location to location, and personal transports owned by the citizens themselves, coming in all shapes and sizes, all powered by a white energy core. The city itself glowed a white hue in the darkness of night.

His attention drew from the city, and people he cared for to the stars that shone in the inky blackness of the night sky. He longed to be among them. While he loved his home world with a fervor nigh unmatched, he has always wanted to travel amongst the dots of light that made up the sky every passing of the sun.

The transport stopping withdrew his attention from the night sky back to his present surroundings, The Royal Palace. The Royal Palace was a large, grandiose building, elegantly constructed from the same brass colored metal. Its highest point reached into the clouds, white lines of energy ran up the sides of the many columns that made up the base of the building, intricate carvings of past splendor and glory covered the building, seamlessly integrating into the building's architecture.

Ilmas Vagon exited the vehicle, which sped away soon after. He began to make his way to the palace, soon flanked by two honor guards garbed in elaborate, embellished power armor, wielding traditional Rethellian long bladed spears and tower shields exclusive to the soldiers that guarded the palace grounds. He himself wore his ceremonial power armor, draped across his form like a blanket. While he understood the necessity for it, he despised it entirely. It was too superfluous and ornate for his liking, leaving vulnerable areas too exposed, and he felt as if it was unwieldy. He wasn't as fast as he normally would be, and he felt vulnerable, despite his position he preferred practical power armor. Once he enters the palace, he will remove the ghastly outfit and don his personal battle armor. He feels more comfortable in the armor custom made for his own physique than anything else. He could trust it, it has saved him before. With his two honor guards in tow, Ilmas Vagon quickly made his way to his chambers.

The Emperor, garbed in his familiar power armor, entered the inner sanctum of the palace, pleased to find that his adviser had done as he asked. Said adviser rose from his seat and bowed to him, the rest of the advisory following suite soon after. Many of the advisers wore ornate and extravagant sets of personal power armor, signifying their status and position.

His financial adviser wore stark red armor with a gold trim, a ceremonial crest resembling some far flung avian of myth upon his helm. He was of average height for a Rethellian, around 8'2. The image the Rethellian presented to those around him spoke of averageness, despite his position. He was a very shrewd businessman, second only to his father during his reign. The adviser smiled fondly at him, and he returned it. He was an old family friend, he had helped his father become the beloved figure he was known for today, and he valued his input greatly.

His General of the Armed Forces, General Raid Taras, contrary to his peers wore not the expensive, elaborate armor his compatriots wore. He wore robust power armor, the plating thick and strong, the silver metal embellished with markers of past battles and glories glinting in the light overhead. The armor was intricately crafted, designs crafted upon the metal plates upon the breastplate and pauldrons to accentuate his rank and status to his peers. His size, standing a good head or two over the other advisers, and muscular bulk conveyed his profession to those around him, as only soldiers or military personnel were of this size or strength. He, however, was the result of extensive genetic enhancement and augmentation over thousands of years, and was unsurpassed by all who bore the title of soldier, save for one. He was headstrong, intelligent, charismatic and an experienced leader of soldiers, serving in his role for tens of millennia without fail.

General Taras bowed when the Emperor entered the sanctum. He was pleased to see his Emperor wearing his personal armor rather than the appalling ceremonial garb that his compatriots wore. He admired the strong will the Emperor had, his determination and drive utterly irresistible. It was odd for the Emperor to call this meeting three weeks ahead of schedule, but he did not question it, for his Emperor must have good reason for this to be held. He needed to give him an update on the campaign against the rebels in the south anyway.

His compatriot, Grand Admiral Vikal Vun, bowed in tandem with his military counterpart, his form fitting, sleek gray power armor glinting in the overhead light. He was very taciturn, pragmatic to a fault, which was the perfect combination of traits when commanding entire battle fleets and millions of naval personnel and marines, where a mistake, a moment of passion, could see their end come with a flicker of light in the cold, dark void.

Ilmas then spotted the Spymaster. This Rethellian was a thin, spry individual, able to weave through the crowds utterly unnoticed. Sometimes even he forgot his presence. The Spymaster was the definition of silence, so quiet that most forgot he was there, never noticing his approach. He wore a lightweight set of personal power armor, the dark metal plates contrasting with the silver trim. He nodded towards the adviser, who returned it promptly.

The Ecclessiarch, who was studying a book which contained sacred texts, wore gilded golden power armor with a silver trim, imagery of figures of importance, events of reverence and revelation all crafted upon the armor, with an ornate, horizontally crested helm residing upon his head. The priest was of no political use, nor did he provide the Empire with coin. He merely advised the ruler concerning spiritual matters. Sometimes a priest could become an Emperor's personal confidant, but this was not the case for this priest. Most of the time however, the priest studied the sacred texts and meditated, leaving the political matters to those with expertise in it.

Finally, there was his chief adviser, the Chancellor. The young Rethellian was conversing with his financial adviser, and from the subtle facial expressions he could discern, it was an enthralling conversation. He wore a simple set of personal power armor, silver in color, with enlarged pauldrons on his shoulders, the insignia of the Rethellian Empire, on each pauldron, glowing a bright white. He was not as bulky as the military personnel, nor was he the same size as the regular Rethellian. He was somewhere in the middle.

Most Rethellians wore personal power armor, as they valued martial service and strength. They despised perceived weakness and cowardliness. Only the strong, the intelligent, and the most capable were worth following.

When the Emperor took his seat, his advisers followed suit.

"You all may be wondering as to why I called this meeting. After the announcement regarding the colonization effort, my chief adviser informed me that some members of the council were not so eager to embrace the changing times. Spymaster, what do your informants say about this?" the Emperor asked.

"My sources bring similar, if not worse news, your grace," The Spymaster said. " It seems there is a substantial portion of the council that disapproved of your decision to subvert their authority. They bicker and complain about how they lost their power and influence during the reign of the previous Emperor, and some even whisper of restoring their power to its former glory and overthrowing you."

The Spymaster paused in his report, seemingly reluctant to give the rest. But after a subtle look from the Emperor, he divulged the rest.

"Unfortunately, my sources cannot confirm which members of the council whisper such traitorous words. It seems that those who want to usurp your power don't want to be found nor desire the attention that comes with spewing such treason," he said.

This report troubled Ilmas Vagon. If the traitors cannot be found and executed, their words and treason could spread to the populace, as the council still has some influence over the people. He couldn't have another civil war on his hands, it would divert much needed resources and attention from the colonization effort, and that will not do. However, if he could frame it to look like to the populace that the traitors were bent on destroying their way of life, he could diminish their influence, and then, possibly, he could dissolve the council altogether.

It was a relic from the ancient Republic that had once ruled their world. Its inefficient bureaucracy and the gridlock of politics hindered what needed to be done and caused unnecessary suffering upon its own citizens due to the very nature of politics in a Republic, or in any type of democratic system. It's time for the Empire to rid itself of the past for it to move onwards to the future. A brighter future, where the Rethellians rule the galaxy and have acquired their former glory and prosperity.

"Spymaster, send out your agents and have them infiltrate the inner circles of these traitors. It seems that this matter requires a more effective approach than your sources. I want weekly reports of their movements, actions and details of any plan that moves to usurp me."

The Spymaster nodded. "Yes, my Emperor. Consider it done."

"Imperial Treasurer, give me your report."

"Yes your majesty. The Empire is currently doing quite well in finances, bringing in a substantial amount of revenue from the populace, combined with the newly constructed mineral mines, the Empire has a surplus of resources at its disposal. We could use it to grow our economy to encompass more jobs and increase employment, but its ultimately up to you to decide where the extra resources go," the financial adviser reported.

"If I may be so bold, your majesty. I advise that the extra resources be diverted to the military research," The General said, standing up.

Aesculapius turned to his military adviser.

"Why is that General Taras?"

"If you were to divert the extra resources to the military's R&D teams, we could discover new technologies to help us serve you, Your Majesty. Already our scientists have begun development on strengthening our warship's shields and making the Empire's weaponry deadlier than ever. With the extra resources, we could speed the development of these technologies by tenfold, Your Majesty. We will make sure that none dare oppose us for the foreseeable future, perhaps for all time," The General said, bowing before sitting back down.

"I disagree, General," The Chancellor said. "If your research teams can already develop weapons to utterly destroy our enemies, why not invest the resources into civil developments. Increasing the yield of crops and domestic farm animals for greater food production, allowing higher yields of minerals and base metals, and investing into the refinement of our power sources. Life extension technology has already been discovered, though it's primitive. But with the extra resources diverted to its refinement, it can potentially make us live for hundreds of thousands of years more so than usual, possibly longer," he paused to take a breath. "Our bureaucracy is in need of streamlining and more efficiency. If we were to develop better ways to govern more efficiently, we could acquire more planets and star systems without horrible mismanagement by the planetary governors and viceroys we will install, ensuring a quality of governance held to the highest standards possible."

Pharsalus paused to see if he was allowed to continue, doing so when the Emperor nodded.

"If you invest in civil affairs now, you will reap the benefits in the long run, instead of the short term benefits of investing in military research," Pharsalus finished.

After a minute or two of silence, the Emperor stood up. The military advancements sound promising. If they were to encounter a threat that matched, or surpassed them, it would be pertinent to have the more advanced weaponry. The Empire's warships, while powerful now, would be somewhat dated a few hundred years down the road, so it would be good to have constant advancement to make sure their warships are up to date and more powerful than ever. The life extension technology was irrelevant, as Rethellians were nigh immortal already, living up to ten or so millennia before they began to show signs of age. He could focus on civil affairs when the galaxy was under Rethellian rule, when no other rival could challenge them and threaten their hegemony. However, his people come first. From the subtle hints the Treasurer was giving him, the people needed an expanded employment field, where anyone could find a well paying job, and he intended to make sure his citizens were taken care of.

"See to it that the extra resources are diverted to the expansion of the job market and employment," the Emperor said.

Pharsalus bowed and left the inner sanctum to complete his task.

"General, how are the campaigns in the south fairing?"

"The armies are making steady progress. The rebels are giving ground to our soldiers, though they fight fiercely for every inch lost. Casualties are within acceptable parameters. We have captured key production facilities that produce their munitions and war gear. They will be hard pressed to resist much longer if we continue to press the attack, they will soon run out of munitions, medical supplies and basic necessities for their soldiers, and they will soon fall to our indomitable advance. Though there is the matter of their weapons being able to breach our soldiers' armor systems. Our research teams are working to remedy this as soon as possible, though until that time it is possible that they may slow our advance by utilizing hit and run tactics, bleeding the armies dry before they reach their objectives. I will inform the army commanders to exercise more caution and take fewer risks with their soldiers from now on. Unity will be achieved, my Emperor! That we can assure without doubt," General Taras reported.

Ilmas bowed to the council, dismissing them, and the advisers quickly left the sanctum. The Emperor soon left the sanctum as well, moving throughout the palace, heading towards the exit. He called his personal transport, entering the craft as soon as he exited the palace. The craft sped off towards the southern end of the city, directly towards a medium sized domed building. The transport stopped in front of the building, with the Emperor exiting the transport and entering the domed building in a quick fashion. As he walked through the building, he was greeted by a Rethellian scientist.

"My Emperor," he said before bowing. "My apologies for not greeting you sooner, a breakthrough has just happened in the project you commissioned."

"Show me."

The head scientist nodded and motioned him to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Down the Path of Enlightenment**

The Emperor stared at what was before him, the glass, almost perfectly clear, distorting what lay behind it to his vision, and was unsure of what to make of it. It was a Rethellian, locked in stasis, a look of tranquility and slumber upon his countenance. This specimen was of no note, nothing stood out when compared to the masses of Rethellians he had given his speech of expansion to earlier to regard it in any different manner than he would a subject, and yet here they were, locked in stasis, behind a meter thick glass chamber, small observation cameras focused intently on the subject they were tasked to observe and record. The scientist that led him into the chamber containing the specimen moved with a quickness that spoke of excitement, their fingers rapidly tapping a small holographic screen projected from a device he wore on his wrist, every now and then looking towards the subject, returning to his screen after nodding to themselves.

He looked around, and found himself in a large, open chamber, nearly filled to capacity with equipment dedicated to interpreting and presenting data to those that wished to view it, columns, wide at the base, thinner at the top, lined the walls, evenly spaced as these columns supported the rounded dome that was the roof. Small groups of scientists were moving around the chamber, each group moving to each machine, recording data that the machine presented, and moving on, discussing amongst themselves the differences of last week's data compared to the current input. At the entrance he and the lead scientist that he had tasked for this project came through were elite honor guards, genetically enhanced and augmented soldiers of the highest quality and training, clad in high quality power armor, a dark gray color with a gold trim, intricate carvings and markings wrought by the bearers detailing their deeds, their rank and what caste they belonged to were engraved upon their shoulder pauldrons, wielding short, robust plasma carbines. They seemed more akin to statues than elite soldiers, unflinching walls of metal and augmented muscle, but he knew that they were observing each and every individual with great attention, and with his presence, their nerves were on edge more so than normal, now that they had the implicit task of protecting the Emperor.

The energies of psionics filled the chamber, a constant undercurrent of power that filled the air with a light pressure. He felt them, each and every one of them, for they all were psionics in some capacity. Some were barely felt, their powers only to the level to be classified as a psionic, and nothing more, while others could be felt outside the building as he made his approach, their power substantial enough to warrant his attention. The honor guards were leagues above all the others, bastions of psionic potential and power, and he felt them as his transport made its way to the building. They were engineered and trained to be the best, with the strongest grasp of their psionic powers among the literal billions of Rethellians, and were selected as his personal protectors, accompanying him at all times and guarding places of import to the Rethellian regime from any threat, psionic or otherwise. They were the closest things he could call his equals in strength, speed and power, but they still were utterly outclassed to an absurd degree. All of them were scions of ancient noble houses utterly loyal to the imperial regime.

"My Emperor, the project you have commissioned has borne fruit from our labors," the lead scientist chimed, moving to stand before his ruler, a short bow followed the statement. "As you, and the upper castes of Rethellian society well know, Rethellians borne of noble blood carry a trait that sets them apart from the endless numbers of our people; what makes them special and ordains their role as figures of importance in our society since the establishment of our society millennia ago is something that most Rethellians crave to obtain. The Psionic Gene," he finished, gesturing to the subject suspended in the stasis chamber.

"Ever since its discovery, the prevailing theory among scholars and those experienced in the field of genetics is that those of noble blood are the sole carriers of said gene, that they are somehow of higher quality stock than those of other castes, and their genetic makeup is what allows them to rise in social status over those of lesser stock; that their ability, intellect, and strength of character, mind and body is proof that they are inherently different. For the most part, this theory has some basis in reality. Most noble blood lines have been observed to be of quality genetic stock, bearing no aberrant traits that would hamper their ability either mentally or physically, and their skill in all areas of statecraft, war, and of intellectual pursuits due to centuries of schooling and training allow them to claim high social positions most Rethellians would be hard pressed to obtain. What gave this theory the proof it needed to be made fact was that every noble bloodline of high quality stock possessed the Psionic Gene, without fail. Each descendant of the noble families up to the present day possesses it, though the level of power varied from Rethellian to Rethellian. A trait thought beyond the reach of the everyday Rethellian, until now," he stated.

"What we have here is a regular Rethellian. He is of no import, in the social spheres or his vocation, a low level artisan of stone is his chosen toil. We asked for volunteers for experimentation, and he was the first to accept. He was compensated for the time spent away from his work, as protocol dictates, and our work began. For weeks upon weeks, we tampered with his genetic makeup, noting with great interest that the subject possessed a version of the gene that lay dormant, inert. He possessed untapped potential that we could exploit, and so we began to introduce outside stimuli in the hopes that something would trigger a reaction, hopefully activating the latent gene," he explained, his voice, confident and excited, now taking on a nervousness that garnered the Emperor's full attention.

"We still are unsure what activated the latent gene, we are still determining the cause and will report it to you as soon as it's available, but after two weeks of failed attempts, the gene awoke. As per protocol, we interred him into a psionic null container to prevent unwanted and accidental destruction and injury, and put him in stasis, as the psionic powers, untested as they were, caused him much stress and anxiety as he tried to forcibly control them."

The Emperor stared at the figure in stasis, a look of empathy and understanding upon his visage. He understood the stress, the feeling of fear that this Rethellian felt, for he too felt the very same growing up, always treading on eggshells when using his power in the presence of others, others he could, and have already, hurt. From the moment he could walk, he had constant training and guidance on how to contain, control, and harness the titanic psionic power he was born with. His father, the greatest psionic at the time, was his most frequent tutor and guide, for no other Rethellian could match his son in sheer power and potential. There were accidents, of course, and they, more often than not, resulted in injury to other Rethellian psionics, and each one had a profound effect on him and he vowed to never let another innocent suffer at his hands and trained in earnest to control it fully. Over time, he eclipsed his father in power and strength, and became the most powerful psionic in Rethellian history. He has had millennia of training under his belt, and was able to fully harness the psionic energy at his disposal.

This Rethellian had no such luck, and the full force of psionic energy came at him all at once, something he had no knowledge of beforehand, and he, understandably, tried to bend the energy to his will by force. He was a strong psionic, there was no doubt, more so than the new initiates from the noble families already training at the PsiCorps training facilities in the northern part of the capitol. This particular psionic would be lacking for a proper teacher if he were sent there, and his potential would be wasted, and the Emperor hated to see potential, especially when regarding psionics, wasted. His jaw set in determination, he made a promise to himself. He will be this Rethellian's guide to understanding his newfound power, and will teach him to master it. In time, he hoped to make him a part of his retinue of honor guards, and he mused on possibly making him an adviser, but pushed that thought to the side. He had to focus on getting the Rethellian up to par first, the rest would come later of its own volition.

"Open the chamber. I wish to speak to the subject," The Emperor commanded.

The scientist, for a split second, hesitated to follow his Emperor's command. He knew the dangers of an untrained psionic, the threat that they posed to another is substantial. He has witnessed many injuries being caused by young psionics, and knew that a fully grown adult, despite lacking training, can cause more damage simply due to the maturation of the body and mind without training to properly control the sheer power of psionic energy. They had more energy to exert into channeling the untapped reservoir that was psionic energy, and it made them dangerous. Simply put, an untrained psionic is a force to be reckoned with by all, and an extreme danger to anyone in their vicinity. It was unwise to interact with an untrained psionic without proper precautions. Then he remembered who gave the order. The Emperor himself. The greatest psionic of their age, perhaps, he mused, of all time. If anyone could potentially interact with an untrained psionic and return unscathed, it was him.

"Yes my Emperor," he replied, turning to the scientists under his command. "Open the chamber."

The door opened, and with its opening the seal of the chamber was broken, and the Emperor could feel it. He could feel the chaotic, underlying psionic energies roiling around the Rethellian, a font of uncontrolled power in a constant state of turmoil, threatening to destroy whoever was found wanting nearby. The scientists near the chamber felt the pressure of psionic energy emanating from the stasis chamber, its power threatening to overwhelm them like an overflowing river dragging an unfortunate soul down into its tumultuous depths. despite being psionics themselves. Even the honor guards, unmoving bulwarks of stoic duty and discipline, slightly flinched, their trigger finger reflexively flexing at the feeling of slight unease and danger.

Then the Emperor tapped into his own psionic power. It wasn't a fair comparison by any means. The Emperor was a sea of unending, all-consuming power, his limit all but lost to those who possessed the ability to sense such things. The scientist felt as if he were standing near a star, the pressure nearly making his knees buckle and stealing his breath away, the chamber filling to its entirety with psionic energies so overwhelming that he, but for a moment, braced himself to be swept away, yet he felt no fear. While the untrained psionic's energy was sporadic and wild and elicited feelings of wariness and danger, the energy coming from the Emperor felt stable and controlled, like a wave gently lapping at the shore; peaceful, calm, yet unquestionably powerful.

The Emperor entered the chamber, ordering the scientist to seal him in with the psionic, the Rethellian complying without hesitation, confident in his lord's ability. He approached the stasis entombed being, taking note of the minute muscle twitches. The subject's mind was active. Good. It made things easier to interact with, rather than having to force his way through the miasma of latent activity and unrelated thoughts that made up a mind in REM sleep.

Telepathic communication was the first task any psionic had to master in order to progress, and the Emperor was the best.

'_Greetings, you need not be afraid. I'm here to help you.'_

All at once, a cascade of emotions, thoughts and feelings rushed towards him, and the Emperor raised his mental shields, feeling the literal wave of psionic power crash against them, a mixture of anxiety, fear, nervousness, curiosity and wariness were the more dominant emotions that the Emperor could feel. For the next few minutes, he gently coaxed the Rethellian into calming down, sending waves of soothing thoughts and emotions into the subject's psyche. The subject was unable to project proper telepathic messages, only being able to communicate via emotions and concepts. It only took a split second for the Emperor to decipher what the subject was trying to communicate, despite how simplistic it was.

'_Who are you?'_

'_I am Ilmas Vagon, Emperor of the Rethellian Empire.'_

A rush of panic, fear, respect, admiration and devotion crashed against the Emperor's mental walls. He soothed the subject's worries, assuring him that he felt no disrespect from his actions.

'_You are special. You are the first psionic not born of noble blood. I am here to train you, guide you, into becoming a powerful psionic, if you so wish.'_

He knew that the Rethellian would accept, without a shadow of a doubt. There was no other recourse that would allow him to grow and realize his potential.

'_I accept'_

'_Good, your training will begin in a week's time. Rest until then, your training will be taxing, and you will need all of your strength'_

A sense of contentment and purpose flowed from the Rethellian's mind, and it pleased Ilmas to see one of his subjects find a purpose, that it benefited him was just a bonus. He turned towards the chamber entrance, but stopped, and turned back towards the stasis bound psionic.

'_My apologies, I have forgotten. What is your name?'_

There was a moment's pause, then an answer.

'_Diokles, my lord.'_

'_Well met Diokles. I look forward to our shared future.'_

He exited the chamber, turning to the scientist as the door sealed shut once more.

"Now that your labor has concluded, I have another task for you."

"Anything, my Emperor."

"Expand your pool of candidates. Find out if this is limited to this individual or not. It is of vital importance that we know for sure," the Emperor commanded.

"Of course my Emperor. I will not fail you!" the scientist replied excitedly, already moving to the groups of scientists and giving them orders.

The Emperor nodded in satisfaction and left, two elite honor guards accompanying him as he made for the palace. There are many more issues and projects that require his attention. He seems to never have enough time.


	4. Chapter 4

General Taras stepped off of the landing ramp of the transport that had taken him from the capitol to the southern continents, towards his base of operations where he commanded the campaign of unification, and what he saw befuddled him. The entirety of the 4th, 3rd, 2nd and 1st armies were arrayed before him, not in battle formations, ready to assault the last holdouts of the rebel forces, but in parade formations, ready to receive guests of honor or figures of importance. Their armor, colored in the livery of their respective units and subunits, modifications to their war gear denoting rank and station to distinguish the officer core and the non-coms from the standard infantry, who stood in front of their respective units, was polished to where the overhead sun gleamed off of their battle plate. Their poise and uniformity was of near perfection, they were utterly still, nothing was out of place. Large formations of armored tanks were nestled in between each formation of infantry, their engines quiet as they idled, a low rumble reaching his ears, no vehicle was out of place, measured by the millimetre so that each one was perfectly aligned with one another. In total, over one million soldiers and fifty thousand tanks, along with innumerable troop transports, aircraft, and support personnel were arrayed before him, and it took his breath away every time he looked upon such a display. All were veterans of conflict, and he was proud to have led them this far.

This conflict had been raging for five centuries. A group of noble families had rebelled after the previous emperor passed away, thinking that his successor would be less capable, and thought they could seize their chance for independence. How wrong they were. The Emperor had assigned him to this task, and by his honor he would complete it. He had routed the armies marching for the capitol, and had besieged stronghold after stronghold, fighting off counter attacks and ignoring numerous attempts to draw him away from his task, no matter how poignant they were to his personal feelings.

Their manufacturing centers were his, their aide stations under the Emperor's banner, their recruitment centers destroyed or repurposed for his own usage. The outlying farmlands were being taken day by day, leagues of farms, livestock ranches and provincial centers for food processing. All were being won from the rebels. Any and all major areas of resistance, major and minor cities, military facilities and bunker complexes north of the equatorial border were his, the only strongholds remaining were the southron city states that threw their lot with the rebels. They were the last bastions of resistance, and he would grind them into dust with overwhelming firepower and combat superiority. Nothing would stand against him.

His thoughts were interrupted when the respective leaders of each army and their command cadre made their way towards him, and he began to walk towards them, his armored sabatons leaving solid imprints in the soil as he moved. His movements were not the heaving, unwieldy steps that characterized most soldiers who wore such heavy battle plate as his own, but were natural, the neural muscle fibers within the suit of power armor tensing and releasing in time with his own, replicating his natural movements to a near perfect degree. His honor guards followed close behind, never straying far from their charge, their power packs, worn upon the wearer's back, hummed quietly as they moved, their movements nearly matching his own in fluidity and naturality. Each one was a member of the honor guard that protected the Emperor's very own personage and those deemed too valuable to the regime to leave unprotected, and as such were peerless in their skill at arms, save for one. Their armor, each suit hand crafted by the best armor smiths on planet, were made from the strongest materials available, embellished, grey form fitting adamantine plates covered their personage, each one unique, bearing the livery and heraldry of the Emperor, the character of a language so ancient that many, save for those of the Emperor's honor guard and retinue, knew its meaning. In the language of its origin, it was the symbol for a letter, translating into 'Phi', but now, in the Rethellian Empire, it was the visual seal of imperial authority and power, bringing safety and security to ally and citizen alike, but instilling in the recidivist and foe dread and terror in its basest form.

He met them halfway, receiving their salutes and returning them.

"What is the situation here?"

"General, we have received an offer of surrender. These rebels have broken from the main body and wish to discuss terms."

'_Discuss Terms? Who did they think they were?'_ he thought incredulously. They were on the back foot, and now they wish to discuss terms? As if they could demand anything from him or his Emperor. They were fools. They spat upon his honor, and the honor of his Emperor. They deserved nothing. And yet it was his duty to end this conflict, one way or another, and an opportunity to do just that presented itself. He would be remiss in his duty to disregard such a chance.

He gestured for them to lead the way, and he followed them to the command pavilion, surrounded by the elite soldiers of each army, their war plate marked with icons and markers of past battles and honors. Their armor was cleaned up as much as possible, and the soldiers wore them with pride. At the center of the pavilion sat a large, stone table, and at that table sat five figures.

The two on the left were unremarkable. Their armor was of an older, unpowered variant, ragged and aged, colored in the livery of their lineage, a mixture of red and gold colors, though faded with age, they had seen better days. Their demeanor spoke of subordinates, their postures conveyed that they were used to command, but were also used to receiving orders. They were the smallest of the five, their bulk spoke of those unused to direct combat. Commanders who directed from the rear? Maybe, maybe not. This described the two on the right as well, though their armor was in better shape, colored with purples and gunmetal grays. They stood fractionally taller than those on the left, and were slightly bulkier. Perhaps commanders of infantry formations?

It didn't really matter. The middle figure was the one to pay attention to. The way he carried himself spoke of pure authority, one used to absolute command. His armor, a powered variant, was well crafted, the plates interlocking to create a seemingly impenetrable, overlapping wall of metal. He stood taller than the other four, his bulk on par with his honor guards. There was no question, he was the leader. It was strange that he wore no colored livery of his house, or any markings at all, the battle plate a blank, grey slate, untouched by any artist. Entirely utilitarian, nothing was of excess. Every piece of his armor had a practical purpose, and was useful in some way. He respected that.

As he entered the pavilion, the four turned to him and rose, their demeanor spoke of resentment, bitterness and resignation. The middle figure, however, was unusually impassive, unflinching and gave nothing. His stance, his poise, his entire body language spoke of neutrality, utterly lacking in emotions. It was slightly unnerving.

He stood on the other side of the table, waiting for them to introduce themselves, or at the very least acknowledge his presence beyond glares and scornful looks, but no such moves were made, and he already wanted to take the lot into custody and discard this obvious farce. It would be a breach of conduct if he were to do this, however, so he had to give them the benefit of the doubt and hear what they had to say.

"I'm told that you wish to discuss your surrender?"

When he spoke those words, all, save the one in the middle, flinched, as if their bodies were struck by a terrible blow. He sneered at the display behind his helmet. They came here, of their own volition, and yet they were behaving like younglings being scolded. A true display of the nobility that the noble families liked to champion.

His eyes moved to the middle figure, seeing no overt reaction, only a shift in weight from one foot to another. Then, he spoke.

"Yes, General Taras, we wish to discuss our surrender."

Taras nodded in assent, and the meeting began.

"We would like to begin by offering information regarding our former allies residing in the southron city states. We have intelligence regarding their numbers, strength, locations of key positions and leaders, and much more," the leader offered.

"Why betray your allies? Have you finally realized the hopeless situation you are in?"

One of the smaller nobles in the faded livery clenched their fists, their form slightly shaking in near unrestrained rage. The noble farthest to the left laid a hand on their compatriot's shoulder, murmuring something to their enraged peer, which calmed the noble down enough for the meeting to continue.

"Our allies have changed for the worse. Your inexhaustible advance has driven them to desperate acts, acts that have forced us to break away and forge our own path in this time of tumult. They have begun to ration food for the civilians, but to intolerable levels. They starve in the streets, while our former allies gorge themselves on their stolen spoils. '_They do not fight, therefore they do not eat. Service to the cause in battle alone guarantees rations. The rest, they will have to make do'_," he quoted, his voice trembling with outrage. "The soldiers are given free reign to take what they '_need'_ in order to better serve the cause, but abuse such privilege with wanton abandon. Looting and pillaging being done unto those we are meant to protect has become commonplace, valuables that, while precious in times of peace, now worthless in times of war, are ripped from their rightful owners. '_The cause needs funding, and if those who pledge themselves to it refuse to do their part, then we will ensure that they fulfill their oath'_. Such is the desperation that they forcibly oust owners of factorum centers, without compensation, or even the promise of such, to ensure that the demand for war material is met, if only for a moment or two."

The leader continued to describe the atrocities, all the while General Taras' sneer turned into a snarl of rage, his features twisted with righteous fury and indignation after learning of his fellow Rethellians suffering in such a manner, which only hardened his resolve to grind the rebellious nobles to dust under his armored boot heel.

"...and that is why we wish to surrender, and if the possibility is available, defect to the Rethellian Empire."

The two nobles on the left snarled in outrage, their posture blatantly hostile, their umbrage and accusations of betrayal overshadowed the middle noble's attempt to calm them. The two nobles on the right moved quickly to the middle noble's side, their size and bulk, much greater than their two compatriots, dissuaded any attempt by the lesser two nobles from attacking the leader, but the venom in their threats and words of vexation revealed to Taras a deep rift. One he could exploit should he wish it.

The honor guards during this commotion had remained silent, motionless beside their charge, their enhanced, augmented senses detected no threat to the one they were assigned to protect, and the situation didn't require their direct involvement, so they did nothing.

"YOU SPINELESS CUR! YOU NEVER MENTIONED DEFECTING! WHERE IS YOUR HONOR?! YOU SHAMELESS WHORE! YOU WOULD DEBASE YOURSELF BY JOINING THE DESPOT?!" the two smaller nobles roared at their leader, their tone demanding answers.

"It is in our best interest to align ourselves with those who are blatantly close to victory. Our cause is lost. You and I both know this to be true," he pushed, the two smaller nobles shaking their heads, as if the mere act of not believing what was being heard would make it not true. Nevertheless, he continued. "They are superior to those we followed. They have bested us countless times in the field, and now they are within breathing distance. I will not pledge myself to a cause that has lost its soul to madness and desperation and weakly flails about while its better slowly tightens the noose around its neck, damning those who are left to death and ruination. If there is an opportunity to save my house, and those around me, then I will take it."

General Taras slams his fist onto the stone table, leaving an imprint in the stone with long, jagged cracks emanating from the point of origin, silencing the chaos in an instant.

"You assume that my mission is to pardon traitors and recidivists. It is not. It is to end this conflict so that my lord's ambitions can be realized without hindrance," the hulking Rethellian rumbled, his voice hard and uncompromising. "If you can expedite my efforts, you will be compensated, but first, prove that you are worth my attention, or I will take you all into custody this instant."

This stunned the nobles across from the table. To be treated without respect gave them pause, but his words halted all thoughts in their tracks. They looked to one another, unsure of what the next course of action should be. Then the middle noble sighed in resignation and conceded to Taras' demand. Turning to one of the taller nobles, he held out his hand, and a moment later a data pad was placed in it. He looked at it, his face a sour grimace. He knew that if he gave this over, their leverage would be gone. He glanced at the imperial, noting the Rethellian's growing impatience. Perhaps they had no leverage to begin with, perhaps this was a pointless gesture of weakness to the general, a waste of time better spent directing the final push to victory over the rebels.

He turns to the imperial. "Here is the proof of my claims. Positions of armies, key defensive points, supply lines, supply caches and depots, everything that you need to rip out the throat of your enemies."

He accepted the data pad with silence, his enhanced mental faculties already perusing the monumental amount of data. The noble spoke true. Here was everything he needed to enact a lightning campaign so fierce, so damaging, that the rebels will fall within the month. His mood lifted, but only partially. While this made things easier on overall operations, there was still the problem of the rebels' weapons systems punching through their armor. His eyes moved back to the nobles, watching him with wariness. Perhaps they had more use for him yet.

"While this is promising, it isn't enough to warrant accepting your defection."

Noises of unadulterated fear, confusion, anger and outrage met him, and before they could continue, he held up a gauntleted hand, silencing them.

"There is, however, something that could start, and even expedite, the process of defecting back to the Rethellian Empire."

"What would that be?" the middle noble asked.

"If you have knowledge of, or even better, schematics for your infantry weapons systems, then your offer of defection will be accepted with open arms."

The nobles once again looked to one another, a silent conversation taking place, one he couldn't discern. Then, a decision, one that drew agreement from all without further discord.

"We know not the inner workings of the weapons our soldiers carry, but we do know where you could obtain such knowledge."

General Taras nodded, and the nobles began relaying the information.

**Blacksite Military Facility**

The Emperor moved along the corridor, the pragmatic, symmetrical walls passing by in a blur, two honor guards at his heels. He had many projects to attend to, and his time was limited, but he did not dare miss the fruition of the first wave of genetically enhanced soldiers.

The project, an amalgamation of genetic data from eons of Rethellian experimentation, experience, recent advances in the understanding and implementation of augmentations upon the Rethellian physique, and millions of years of soldiering to draw from, was to create the next generation of soldier, one that would win any and all wars that the Rethellian Empire would inevitably wage to assert its rightful dominion over the galaxy. They would be faster, stronger, more resilient, and inexorably more intelligent than all those that came before. To onlookers, the term 'super soldier' would be used to describe them, so beyond baseline Rethellians that they may as well be considered as such.

To lesser species, however, they would appear as gods of war, blurs of mass slaughter and annihilation that had no equal.

At least, that was the goal. He had yet to see the results of his project, but had confidence in those he had assigned to complete the work he had tasked them with.

Soon, he passed through an arched entrance, and what he saw lifted his mood. A massive facility greeted him, three kilometres in length and width, one kilometre in height, brimming with medical equipment, machinery and fabrication stations, barracks and training facilities, and a research and development center, along with amenities to facilitate long term habitation. Anything and everything needed for the project to reach fruition without delay.

At the fore of this, three high ranking officers in resplendent armor stood at attention, their poise exacting and still. Behind them stood one thousand souls, all a head taller than the officers, standing at attention. Their armor, made of thick durasteel plates covered in a ceramic ablative layer, was imposing, baroque in design, more akin to ancient orders of armored warriors than soldiers, a blank, grey slate that bore his heraldry upon their right pauldrons, the left bearing nothing, yet, all uniform, nothing noting individuality was present, the power packs upon their back lightly thrummed, creating an undercurrent of noise that filled the silence. The Emperor could only assume that this was the newest mark of power armor, specifically designed for these new soldiers.

He, along with his honor guards, moved to stand before this host. Ilmas stood, studying those in front of him with a keen eye used to noticing the slightest detail. The officers were slightly perturbed, nervous energy coursing through them, causing slight movements to break their rigid stance despite their best efforts. The soldiers behind them, however, were completely still, nothing was given, no small minute twitches, no shifting of weight from one foot to another. They were discipline given form.

He was pleased with what he saw.

"I am told that the project bore fruit?" he addressed the officers.

It was the one to the left that responded. "Yes, my lord, the project has exceeded all expectations." He gestured to the soldiers behind him. "The first batch of soldiers, all one thousand, have successfully been augmented and enhanced to the greatest extent our geneticists and biologists could assuredly perform. Each one is a battalion unto himself, but working in concert with their brothers in arms, they are a force strong enough to destroy armies a million strong with ease."

Oh? If this was true, then this project had met his expectations, and then some. If he were honest with himself, he expected only a quarter of the total number of soldiers presented to him. The derivative augmentations and enhancements given unto this new breed of soldier were based on those only a few beings on Rethellia, himself included, possessed. They were invasive and extensive, changing the very nature of those being subjected to them to a level unheard of outside the imperial family and those deemed worthy of such an honor. While the augmentations and enhancements given to these soldiers were lesser than those he himself possessed, they were nonetheless dangerous, despite the extensive experience Rethellians had in enhancing and augmenting Rethellians over the millennia of their existence as a space faring race.

"This success has given our geneticists and biologists the data they need to create a steady stream of new soldiers with a level of mass production within acceptable loss parameters. In a few month's time, their total number is projected to reach ten thousand, in a year's time, they could reach one hundred thousand."

"I'm pleased to hear that, but what would be the production rate if the project continued with its current parameters?"

The officers gave pause.

"My lord, if the project were to continue within its current parameters, their numbers would reach fifty thousand in two years time, which I strongly advise against if they are to be combat effective and ready to deploy to the battlefields and war fronts to the south, and-," he moved to continue before being cut off.

"The civil war currently being won is not for these soldiers to partake in. The enemies we fight today will become our brothers in arms once more, and we will treat them as such. To unleash such destructive weapons upon them would only further the rift between us and our fellow Rethellians ensnared by those seeking to usurp me. No, these soldiers are for the battlefields and war fronts of the future, and their creation cannot be rushed, nor are corners to be cut," he began, his eyes shifting to the soldiers behind the officers, noticing slight movement for the first time, the smallest turning of the helm as they watched and listened. They are intrigued as to what he has to say, and he would oblige them.

He walked past the officers a ways, standing before the thousand strong host, and began to speak.

"You are destined to reclaim the galaxy from lesser xenos who would claim our rightful dominion as their own. They say that our time has passed, and that theirs is nigh. I say nay!" he said, his words echoing throughout the facility. Every single soul within the vicinity heard every word with clarity, and felt the utter conviction and belief the Emperor held when speaking them.

"Our time has never truly ended, and when our reclamation is done, when all of our enemies are defeated, or enlightened to their errors and acknowledge our superiority and rightful claim, it will span until the last star in the entirety of the galaxy dies out. Through the blood of our enemies, this will become reality, and you will be the bloody harbingers of such an age. Find pride in such an honor, for you and you alone will carry the torch and relight the flame of Rethellian hegemony, and restore what was lost and stolen from us," he proclaimed, gesturing to the soldiers to his front.

"You were created to bring about our species' golden age across the stars, and you shall be named as such," he began.

"Henceforth, you are now my Milites Siderum, my Soldiers of the Stars, and you are the First Legion. The first of many to come."


End file.
